


The Eulogy of Forgotten Souls

by dairesfanficrefuge_archivist



Category: Babylon 5, Highlander - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-12-18
Updated: 2000-12-18
Packaged: 2018-12-18 05:43:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11867922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dairesfanficrefuge_archivist/pseuds/dairesfanficrefuge_archivist
Summary: Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived atDaire's Fanfic Refuge. Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onDaire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile.





	The Eulogy of Forgotten Souls

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Daire's Fanfic Refuge](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Daire%27s_Fanfic_Refuge). Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Daire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/dairesfanficrefuge/profile).

The Eulogy of Forgotten Souls by Stephen Gunnell

_The Eulogy of Forgotten Souls_

By Stephen Gunnell 

A _Highlander/Babylon 5_ crossover fanfic 

* * *

**Part 1**

An iris on the port side of the pulsating green craft dilated to a two metre square hatchway. Connor MacLeod admired the sheer splendour of the organic ship and marvelled at how such people could create machines that were of such beauty. 

In all the centuries he had survived, Connor MacLeod had never seen anything quite so amazing as the organic technology employed by the Vorlons. 

The encounter suited alien turned to face the immortal. Lights flashed across the neck region of the suit as its cacophonous voice echoed, "Why do you wait?" 

Connor smiled and slowly shook his head. "I'm waiting because this is the first and maybe the _only_ time I get to see something like . . ." He gestured at the craft, stumped for an adequate word to express the indescribable sense of awe that surrounded the craft before him. 

" . . . Something like this . . ." offered the red-haired woman from behind the immortal. "Back home, you could only _dream_ of something like this." 

"And is this what you dreamt of?" the Vorlon asked. 

Connor stole a glance at the red-haired woman behind him. According to their talk yesterday, they had much in common. Right now he wasn't so sure. From what she had told him, she was from Earth and an ex-psicop. 

As far as he was concerned, there was only one way to leave the corps, and that was under six-feet of dirt. On the other hand, Lyta did claim to have entered this Vorlon's mind . . . and wasn't _that_ impossible in itself? 

It was about then that she described having an inexplicable urge to visit the Vorlon home world. He too had felt this pull, and he could only describe it as being similar to that which he felt almost three hundred years ago when he was summoned to the Gathering. 

Both had been drawn to the same place for the same reason. 

And learning that reason was the hardest lesson the immortal had been confronted with. 

* * *

**Part 2**

The freighter rumbled along the hyperspace pathways at speeds that rivalled that of light. It was an old cargo vessel that ought to have been decommissioned years ago, but the pilot had hauled it out of the scrap yard and restored it to its former 'glory.' 

"Hey, MacLeod! Wake up!" Maximilian shook the sleeping form of Connor MacLeod as he rested in his seat with dreams filled beings of light as his comfort. 

"Huh? Max? What is it?" he mumbled, trying to get up, and suddenly realising that he was still strapped into the seat by the restraining belt. 

Max smiled. "We're a few minutes away from that hellhole you plan on visiting." 

"That 'hellhole', Max, is called the Vorlon home world." He began to undo the strap. 

"Same difference, bud. I take it you realise you need to be in that pod within the next two minutes or you're gonna miss your stop." Max then turned around and floated toward the cockpit of the ship. 

As Connor unbuckled the strap and pulled himself in the direction of the life pod, he wondered why Max and every other pilot on Earth were so afraid of going to the home of the Vorlons. 

Perhaps it's fear of the unknown. That one has prevented human exploration for centuries, and besides, it's not as if anyone knew what a Vorlon looked like. All we ever got to see were their encounter suited butts and the odd cryptic reference since they agreed to establish an embassy on Babylon Five. 

"One minute until contact." Crackled the intercom. 

"Acknowledged." Connor replied, flicking the switch on a side panel. 

_So why is it I've got to go there? Reminds me of the Gathering, but that's over. I felt that final jolt of Kurgan's quickening myself, and since then I've felt more . . . connected to . . . everything._

"Thirty seconds." 

Connor snapped on the flight helmet of the pressure suit and activated the lip microphone, "Understood." He then strapped himself into the pilot's seat and checked the flight controls. 

All systems appeared to be normal and according to the supply logs, he had one week's worth of supplies before he would begin to suffocate and starve. He prayed that it would not come down to such a drastic measure, but MacLeod had survived long enough to now that preparation was the key factor in a stratagem of this ilk. 

The tiny pod shuddered as the larger freighter emerged from the Jump Gate. 

"Okay, MacLeod. Hope you've got your money's worth outta this one – you got a pod and a week to make it to the hellhole. Good luck, you're gonna need it." The locking clamps that connected the two together disengaged and Connor felt the pod begin to drift under its own momentum toward the only planet in the system. 

"Thanks." Connor replied, watching the freighter turn around and reactivate the Gate from a rear view mirror. 

He watched the freighter zoom away into nothingness and terminally out of reach from his communications equipment forever. A sudden pang of apprehension struck him. 

What if his feeling was wrong? What if he was supposed to spend an eternity in the lifeless depths of space once his oxygen supplies depleted? Yet deep down, in a part of him that was the amalgamation of every quickening he had ever experienced, he _knew_ that this was right. He knew he was in the right place at the right time. 

Setting the communications array to emit a tightly packed distress signal in the direction of the planet, Connor waited to meet his maker. 

He wondered why it was that the Jump Gate into this system was so far away from the planet itself. Normally, the Gate is situated near the planet because it lowers the flight time of the ships involved. 

That's _if_ you want ships nearby. From what Connor knew of the Vorlon's, he could guess that although they were definitely one of the older races, they were certainly extremely secretive. Nobody had ever seen a Vorlon unless you could count those encounter suits they wore, and even then nobody was certain as to exactly how much of those suits keeps them alive in our environment and how much of it conceals their true identity. 

Connor realised that he would drive himself insane if he were to continue questioning his motives much longer, so he slipped into a meditative trance that he learnt when he spent a few years in China. 

Time passed and every so often, Connor burnt off more fuel to keep the pod on target for the planet. So far he had been drifting listlessly in the general direction of the home world for three days and had seen no sign of the Vorlon's anywhere. 

The Highlander began to reconsider. What if he was wrong? Maybe they were just going to wait for his supplies to deplete and then vaporise him, so they could claim that they didn't kill anybody – they were just clearing out their space-ways. 

Connor flicked the digital display that informed him that his supplies of oxygen were beginning to reach critical levels. "Dammit, just a little longer." He muttered just before blacking out due to lack of air. 

This was becoming a worryingly more frequent occurrence for the immortal, and he realised that the pivotal moment was coming soon. He switched off the distress signal and bypassed the safety overrides and deactivated the life support systems. 

As the lights in the pod powered down into faint afterimages on his retina, Connor prayed to whichever god was listening for this to have been the correct move. 

In the periphery of his dimming vision, Connor thought he could make out the image of a cylindrical object slicing through space toward him. He blinked a couple of times and rubbed his eyes to make certain it was not just another hallucination brought on by oxygen deprivation. 

The cylinder arced toward the pod and halted in opposition to the cockpit window. Connor stared with his eyes almost balanced on the verge of their sockets and gaped at the marvel, deciding that this hallucination was far more preferable to the one with that Spanish Peacock, Ramirez . . . 

For a whole five minutes, the two ships stopped and stared at each other, as if attempting to determine who was on each side. Connor had already blacked out for probably the last time, as the nearest end of the cylinder opened up like a flowering plant and shot an intense beam of white light at the life pod. 

The beam lanced through the hull of the pod and gripped Connor in a grasp that was tighter than that of death itself. It raised him from the chair and snapped the restraining belt. 

Gradually it intensified until it became a light so blinding it rivalled that of the decaying sun reaching a supernova. 

Then it ceased. 

Once more, all was shrouded in darkness as a lifeless escape pod drifted aimlessly through the depths of space on a vague trajectory that placed it in line with the sun. 

* * *

**Part 3**

At first, all he could see was a bright light shining into his eyes, which he promptly sealed shut until he had brought a hand over to shield them. His mind scrambled frantically through all the possibilities pertaining to his being here. 

"Try and calm down." Soothed a female voice. She must be the one staring down at him. Cautiously opening his eyes, Connor made out a carefully drawn face with deep eyes that seemed to extend into infinity. She placed a hand against his and helped him sit up. 

"What . . .? What just happened?" Connor inquired, looking into her face and suddenly realising that he could sense a small spark of the quickening within her. It surprised him because it was too small for a pre-immortal, yet strong enough for him to detect. He withdrew his hand from hers and rubbed his forehead. 

"Are you okay?" without awaiting a reply, the woman seemed to already know the answer, and continued. "They found you drifting toward this planet in a powered down life pod. They detected your dying body and transported it aboard one of their vessels. They brought you here and healed your injuries." 

"They?" 

The woman seemed to become slightly agitated at Connor's question, and she lowered her voice, piercing him with an icy stare. "Them, they: the Vorlons." 

Connor made motions that indicated he was about to stand. 

"Sit down. You shouldn't get up yet – your injuries aren't fully healed." 

"I heal real fast." Connor stood up and felt a little dizzy. Shaking it off, he looked around the room. It looked some kind of laboratory or medical facility with beds and computer readouts lining the walls. "What is this place?" 

"Somewhere on the Vorlon home world. I don't know where, just that we are there." 

Somehow, Connor knew he could trust her. He examined her clothing and noticed that it was mostly black and it looked as though it could have, at one stage, been part of a uniform. 

"I know what you're thinking: you're frightened, you don't know where you are, or who you're with." She approached him again and extended a hand. "I'm Lyta Alexander, a human like yourself." 

Absentmindedly, he took the proffered hand and shook it. "Connor MacLeod." He stopped examining the room and returned his attention to the one who called herself Lyta. "But you're not like me, are you?" 

She raised an eyebrow. "And why's that?" 

"I don't know . . ." he searched for a word that could explain the feeling he detected form her earlier, "you feel . . . different." 

"I feel different?" she was visibly surprised. "In what way?" 

_Damn. How can I explain it to her in terms she could understand?_

"You're a telepath, aren't you?" 

"Yes." She admitted, grudgingly. 

Before either one could utter a further word, a door coalesced into existence on the far wall. Lyta did not seem as surprised as the gaping immortal. 

"I've got to go." She whispered and exited the room. Connor moved to follow her, but the door disappeared the second she crossed the threshold. 

Connor cursed himself and stared around the room in profound amazement. 

* * *

**Part 4**

He spent the course of several days, at least, that was assuming the immortal was experiencing the actual passage of time, in a room that had no obvious entryway and was devoid of any amenity. Unless he desired its usage, in which case he often found it concealed in a place he had neglected to examine. Since his arrival on the planet, Connor had noticed that the indigenous population seemed to consist solely of the telepath named Lyta Alexander and the implication of a Vorlon presence somewhere nearby. 

Perhaps it was because of his being unable to see the surface for some time, Connor was becoming agitated and irritable. As had become regular as clockwork for him, Lyta passed through the "temporary" door at what he assumed to be breakfast, for she carried a tray in her arms. 

He called the door temporary because it was exactly that. One minute it was there for Lyta to either enter or exit through and the next it had dissolved into the surrounding wall. 

Another oddity concerning this "prison", for it may as well have been, was that the computer terminal Connor had observed on his initial awakening were counterfeit. They were nothing more than some form of psychic projection that made them look and feel real, yet whenever he attempted to operate them, he received no response. 

So like a true human, he assumed it was faked. 

"Is that dinner?" Connor inquired, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the foul smell of the bowl on the tray. 

"I'm afraid not," Lyta stated as she set the tray down by the bed, "it's actually your breakfast." 

"Aren't I the lucky one?" Connor picked up the spoon and cradled the warm bowl in his hands. "What exactly _is_ it?" 

Lyta fixed a bemused stare on the immortal. "You really want to know?" Taking the hint, Connor declined the offer. Lyta leaned closer to him as he swished the spoon around the soup-like mixture. "But if you think real hard . . . it'll be anything you want." 

Sullenly, he spooned the vile smelling mixture into his mouth and thought about the steak dinner he had eaten on the day before he booked passage from Earth. 

His eyes reanimated from their tedium. He rapidly swallowed and consumed some more before glancing over at Lyta. "How? How did you do that?" 

She tapped a finger against his forehead. "It's all in the mind." 

While the immortal ate his meal, Lyta stepped back and stared at the ceiling with her eyes closed as though she were communicating with some unseen force. 

"Do you mind?" 

Lyta snapped her head down and knitted her eyebrows in his direction. At first, Connor thought nothing unusual about this until he realised that her eyes had been replaced with infinite pools of blackness. 

Out of shock, the spoon clattered to the floor, flecks of soup marring the perfect shine of the floor. 

"What!?" The second he looked into those eyes he felt the tiny spark of her quickening explode into something incredibly larger than Connor had felt even when he had taken the Prize. 

_What is she? Whatever she is, she is far more than a mere telepath._

Lyta brought her hands to her head and moaned in agony, her knees buckling beneath her. Seeing she was about to collapse, Connor rushed to her aid, spilling the remains of the soup to the floor. 

"Are you okay?" 

"Yes." She murmured, staggering back to her feet. "Yes, I'm fine." 

"Don't lie to me. I saw what happened – you are not fine." 

"Then why did you ask?" she pushed him away and groggily rose to her feet under her own volition. 

That had caught Connor off guard. It was a response unlike anything he had ever anticipated. 

"Come with me." Lyta stated flatly. She approached the door and waited for Connor to follow. 

Stepping through, Connor watched the door metamorphose back into the wall. He noticed that all the walls, floors, and ceilings in this place looked exactly alike, throwing his sense of perception completely off balance. His only key to not going what the pilots called "space crazy" was to focus his attention on Lyta as she guided him through this maze of similarity. 

* * *

**Part 5**

For Connor MacLeod it was all just so unbelievable it _had_ to be true. As Lyta guided him through the maze, she brought him to a room that was an exact replica of the one he had recently been taken from, with only one difference – the presence of an encounter suited figure in the centre of the room. 

Lyta stood beside the two metres tall and metre wide mottled brown suit that seemed to examine the human before it with a multitude of lenses built into its surface. 

As it regarded Connor, he realised that he could feel the incredibly powerful quickening here in this room. When he felt those lenses boring into him, as if analysing his very biological composition, he felt the intense surge of power that was present in the being before him. 

"Is this the one?" its voice was like a harmony of voices that was somewhat discordant with an underlying chattering beneath each word. Connor assumed the encounter suit meant him, but remained silent. 

"He is the one brought you here, yes." Lyta said, keeping her gaze fixed on Connor. 

"Are you the one?" It asked Connor. 

"I am Connor MacLeod of the clan MacLeod," he stepped closer to the creature and felt that he ought to bow out of the strange feeling of reverence emitted by the being before him. "If you are the one who rescued me then . . . I am in your debt." 

The creature motioned the head unit toward Connor. "Are you the one?" 

Connor became irritated. He had already told whatever it was his name, and hadn't Lyta already told it that he was the one they rescued. "Am I?" 

"Your uncertainty is the source of your strength. You are the one." It wheeled itself closer to Connor and swivelled the head unit to Lyta, "Leave." After Lyta left the room, it examined Connor once more. "Finally, the children have returned." 

"What?" he seemed to be saying that a lot lately. 

"Do you wish to know?" 

"Know what?" 

"Why. Your reason for being. Your purpose. Do you wish to know." 

"I guess so." 

"Do not guess, Connor MacLeod. _Know._ " 

The head unit of the encounter suit shifted backward, and the sides began to slide out of place, shining an intense surge of white light into Connor MacLeod's face. The beam intensified and traced three distinct passages into his eyes and mouth. 

Connor could feel the light piercing his brain and shattering his sanity; he felt it penetrate the deepest, darkest reaches of his very mind and soul: the true essence of his quickening. He could only compare it to the sudden knowing pain of winning the Prize, the instant knowing of all things and the supreme confidence that came with such knowledge. 

He screamed. 

It was so much, so quickly. 

* * *

**Part 6**

Connor fell to his knees and brought a hand across his mouth. His throat was incredibly hoarse, as though he had screamed for an eternity. He tried to rise, but realise that he had no control over his legs, instead, he looked up at the encounter suited creature. 

"What have you done to me?" he spat, his voice croaking. 

The creature had sealed its suit once again. "You have been shown all that has been." 

The cryptic reply did nothing to ease Connor's confusion until he staggered to his feet, leaning against a nondescript wall for support. He could now feel the strength returning to his limbs, he felt a new power flowing through his veins. He returned his eyes to the creature before him and narrowed his eyes. 

"And what is that?" 

"You already know." It stated flatly. 

_Nice and cryptic of him . . . but it still doesn't answer my question_

"Kosh, how can I if –" he stopped himself mid-sentence. "Kosh? Is that your name?" 

"One of many." It moved toward the wall through which Connor and Lyta had entered. A doorway oozed into existence as he approached. 

Now he was getting somewhere. "But how? How did I know?" 

"You were shown. Think and you shall know." 

Connor stood under his own control now and furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of everything when in an instance of revelation, he _knew._ His eyes bulged wide and he rushed after Kosh and the open portal. 

The Vorlon stopped and waited for the immortal ahead of him to speak. 

Connor pointed at the encounter suit. "You. You're a Vorlon." Kosh remained silent. "And you created us," Connor indicated himself, "the immortals to serve in the coming war. But it wasn't just you was it . . ." he paused to allow the Vorlon say his piece, but received only silence. "There were others . . . the Shadows?" Kosh nodded. 

"Some of us were to serve you, and others were to help the Shadows, and the Gathering was nothing more than the selection process. Survival of the fittest. A process of elimination. Once the Game was over and the Prize was one, that immortal waited for the call that would bring him here . . . to you. There could _only_ be one, couldn't there?" 

The Vorlon shook its head. "Look deeper and you shall see." 

Connor raised his eyebrows and continued, letting his mouth form words that adequately described the pictures in his mind. Images of a million quickenings, a thousand deaths, and endless suffering to culminate as but one chapter in the book of the eternal torment. 

"There could be only one . . ." he was reminded of the time when Brenda had asked him what that meant, and he recalled his stern reply: "You only have one life. If you value it – go home." 

"Only one champion. One to fight each side of your battle, to lead your forces to death or glory. The final struggle to end _this_ game and prepare it for the next." 

It was then that he recalled the echo of Ramirez's words, after he won the Prize and could feel the quickening of his friend once more: 'There are countless generations of us being born and dying all the time.' 

Then he realised the truth in those words. Somehow, Ramirez _knew_ of his fate, just as he _knew_ of the Highlander, and he never found the chance during his life to tell Connor what fate had in store for him. Only an echo of a forgotten soul could tell him the words he needed to hear. 

"We are nothing more than the undying leaders of your soldiers in the endless struggle – the everlasting conflict of good between evil. You created the telepaths for us to use as our tools and weapons in the war. We fight, they are used, and you win . . . or lose." 

Connor stopped himself, he suddenly found that the flow of images had ceased like a dammed up river. His fountain of revelation poured no more. He examined Kosh's "expression." He saw the lenses mounted on the encounter suit swivel and manoeuvre as if processing the words he had finished articulating. 

"You _know._ " Kosh sounded pleased. 

* * *

**Part 7**

"And is this what you dreamt of?" Persisted the Vorlon. 

Connor shook himself out of his reverie and smiled. "In a manner of speaking." 

Kosh seemed to accept the answer and led the humans into the organic ship. As they passed through the iris, it sealed itself up like a scratch on an immortal's arm. Connor stared around the vessel in amazement and saw that instead of struts and supports, cables and conduits, there were pulsating tubes that carried a glowing substance through them. 

He felt a rhythmic pulse within the craft, a gentle beating like a heart forcing blood through enormous veins. 

Connor reminded himself of his initial response to the implanted memories that had resurfaced and answered every question with two more. 

He had asked him why Humans had been chosen as the deciding factor in the war? Why a primitive and warlike race and not an enlightened and technologically superior race such as the Minbari? 

The answer was relatively simple: the Humans were a new race in comparison. In the previous Shadow War, the Minbari and the Narns had been key tokens in the battle. But the Humans, they were an untested variable in the equation. Which side would they aid and which shall they hinder? 

It was a difficult question that neither side had managed to answer. Instead, they manipulated them. The Shadows created the perfect plan: what if they could modify certain humans to be immortal? That way they would be the hardiest of all warriors that the Vorlons would face, and with the knowledge of the ages at their side, they would be an extremely difficult foe to overcome. 

Fortunately, the Vorlons learnt of this plan before it was too late and they gave the modified Humans one advantage that the Shadows had overlooked: free will. This led to the Game. This would be the test that the immortals would face to determine the leader of their respective forces. 

Still desiring an advantage over the Vorlons, the genetic purity of a fledgling race was contaminated once more by the creation of telepaths. They were to be the weapons and the cannon fodder. They were to pilot the ships, wield the weapons, and serve the immortals. 

Immortals and telepaths alike were nothing more than toys in _their_ game. 

At first, it had angered him to discover this, but now Connor could see that he was prepared to endure the Gathering, the Game, and all the killing to win the Prize, why should he stop now? 

Why not play the game one final time? 

Kosh had led the pair to what Connor assumed to be the passenger's compartment. Two seats grew from portions of the bulkhead and formed to fit their occupants as Lyta and himself sat. 

Kosh disappeared into the confines of the vessel. 

"Is he always like that?" Connor asked, pointing in the direction of the Vorlon. 

Lyta smiled. "Oh, yes. All the time – you get used to it after a while." 

Connor took a closer look at the woman before him. "I know this is gonna sound clichéd, but what _is_ a woman like you doing in a place like this?" 

She sighed deeply and pursed her lips; "It's a long story, Connor. One too painful to tell right now. Perhaps some day, when all this is over. Maybe then." She clasped her hands against her knees and remained silent for the duration of the voyage. 

Feeling the delicate rumble and thrum of engines, the vessel rose from the surface of a beautiful blue-green orb that hung in quiet majesty. It speared from the world and lanced into the unforgiving depths of space, swallowed up by a tunnel of amber energy. 

* * *

**Part 8**

"We have a Jump Point opening in sector twelve, Commander." Stated a sensor operative seated within the sensitive well that housed the monitoring equipment that ensured the safe passage of every vessel that came even remotely near the five mile long space station. 

Commander Ivanova turned from her vigil at the observation port. "So I see, Lieutenant." She replied, watching the amber energy field open wide and spit out a cylindrical craft that floated silently toward the station. 

"It's Vorlon." 

"Evidently." Ivanova already knew it could only have been a Vorlon who would jump in-system under their own power without a word of warning. It was their unpredictability and their arrogance that irritated her the most. She liked things to be neat and tidy, so she could isolate a problem and solve it before it began to rage out of control as it so often did on Babylon Five. 

"This is Babylon control to Vorlon craft, please state the nature of your arrival." 

A text message scrolled across the officer's screen. 

"Just like them not reply in person . . ." Ivanova muttered. The officer smiled at her response but quickly masked it before she could observe it and realise that he payed more attention to her than was necessary. 

"It's Ambassador Kosh and . . . guests, Commander." 

Ivanova watched the Vorlon cylinder until it coasted through the rotating docking port and disappeared from view. She was perplexed, Kosh had departed the station several months ago, just before they declared independence from the Earth Alliance, effectively signing all of their death warrants in her book, but then she wasn't the Captain . . . and orders are still orders. 

She raised her right hand to her mouth, and pressed a button on her Link. "Captain, Ambassador Kosh has returned . . . I thought you'd like to know." 

"Understood, Commander." Replied the voice of Captain Sheridan in a rather hurried fashion. Listening closely, Ivanova thought she heard shouting in the background. 

"Is everything all right?" 

"Yeah," Sheridan replied, but it sounded as though he was only half-listening to her question, "it's all under control . . . right?" 

Faintly in the background, Ivanova thought she heard somebody groan in the affirmative. 

* * *

**Part 9**

A member of the Minbari religious caste hurried across the floor of the new arrivals lounge and approached another, unusual member of his race. The difference between this woman and him, except gender, was unlike him, she had long, silky black hair concealing the boned ridges formed at the back of all Minbari skulls. 

"Delenn," he called, and the woman rose from her seat and watched his approach, "Ambassador Kosh's ship is docking momentarily." 

"Good." She exclaimed, turning for the entrance to the docking bays. "We ought to hurry. His has been a long voyage and he is the harbinger of important news for all of us." 

"Yes." Bowed her aide, hurrying after her like a faithful puppy. 

By the time Delenn and her aide, Lennier arrived, the ship had landed and assorted waste gases were being vented from associated ports, the soft thrum of the green ship seemed to give off a feeling of uncertainty. 

An iris formed into existence and the encounter suit drifted out of it, silently followed by two humans. One was male and unfamiliar to Delenn, whilst the other quite familiar and female. 

Delenn smiled and walked toward Kosh. "And how was your journey, Ambassador?" 

"Sufficient." Came his enigmatic reply. "The time is also upon us, we have little time to prepare." 

Delenn's smile faded. She knew what he was referring to – the Shadow War was coming and time was running out for them to prepare and rally their forces. She had already heard that the Humans were divided and infighting was sure to follow, and the Centauri were fighting a war on twelve fronts with their aggressive tendencies. Things were not boding well for the forces of light. 

"Then we must hurry. We shall go to my quarters – much has happened recently and trust has become a rare commodity in these parts." Then she was hit by a flashback to the knife piercing her back, barely missing her major organs. Weeks ago, she had been kidnapped by Nightwatch and almost assassinated . . . or martyred depending on your point of view. As a result of this, she tried to save John's life and took the knife that was meant for him. Fortunately, Dr Franklin was well versed in Minbari physiology and rescued her from permanent injury, although a scar may remain. For her, it would serve as a constant reminder of her love for John and could only make her stronger. 

She faced Lennier, "I need to speak with Kosh, please escort the Humans –" 

A myriad of lights flashed across the chest of the encounter suit. "No. They must also come, what we shall say concerns them also." 

Although she was shocked by the thought of what news Kosh might impart of two Humans were an integral part of it, she did not let it show. 

Besides, it was one her most painful regrets that the Humans were the key to this puzzle. 

Silently, the group left and headed for Delenn's quarters. Once inside, Delenn motioned for the Humans to seat themselves if they desired. Neither one did. She took a closer look at the unfamiliar man. She already knew Lyta, but this other man was a mystery. He was dressed in the manner of a civilian in that he wore a leather raincoat that brushed his feet when he walked, but she decided that the white trainers did not accompany the rest of his attire. 

"So what is the news which has returned you here?" she referred to the fact that only a few months ago, Kosh had been forced to reveal his true self to all so that he could save Sheridan from an assassination attempt. That alone had been enough to send him away from the station and be berated by his superiors. Yet he was sent back here with two humans that were apparently the reason for his return. 

"Them." Kosh gestured toward the Humans behind him. "The children have returned home, and the game is about to begin." 

Delenn had spent a long time with Kosh and had learnt to analyse his choice of words carefully, for he was often prone to using metaphor rather than direct speech. His eloquence was far more advanced than hers, as a result of which, many regarded the Vorlon as being nothing more than purposefully cryptic. 

"But what is so special about these two?" 

Connor thought he ought to have been offended by this comment, but bit back from making a snide remark about the Minbari. He only had to recall the Earth-Minbari War to remember why. He stole a glance from Lyta and saw that she was unperturbed by the presence of all these aliens, but Connor put that one down to the fact that he had never left Earth since now. 

"Ask them yourself." Kosh moved so that Delenn could see them properly. 

Lyta stepped forward. "You already know me, don't you. I am Ambassador Kosh's aide for the moment." 

Connor supposed that it was his turn now. He locked eyes with the Minbari for a moment before speaking. "Connor MacLeod." 

Delenn seemed surprised. "Is that all you have to say?" 

"That is who I am." 

She smiled at him. "It is good to find a human who finally knows who he is. I am Ambassador Delenn, and this is my aide, Lennier," the younger, balder, Minbari behind her bowed. 

"You're Minbari, right? I thought you were all . . ." he gestured toward his head. 

Lennier stepped forward. "The Ambassador does not need to -" 

"Thank you Lennier, but his question is a valid one, and one I shall answer." She returned her attention to Connor. "In an attempt to bridge the gap between our two races, I have awoken my dormant human genes." 

"Oh." Not even the immortal could form a reply for such a bizarre statement. 

* * *

**Part 10**

Delenn had arranged for the group of them to expand upon their earlier statements with Sheridan and his senior staff. She knew that the information she had been given concerned them also. 

As she led them into the room, Connor looked at the faces seated at the table. All were human, but as he entered, he felt the buzz of two faint quickenings. His eyes lit up and scanned the humans. 

They came to rest on a woman dressed, like the others, in an imitation Earth Force uniform, as he probed deeper, he detected the faint, almost unnoticeable presence of a quickening. 

He realised that this was indicative of two things: either somebody here was a latent telepath, or was on the run from the corps. 

He quickly averted his gaze before she realised that he was staring, and was faced by a man smiling at him and offering his hand to shake. "Hi, I'm Captain John Sheridan, and welcome to Babylon Five." 

The second Connor accepted and shook the hand, he _knew_ that this was the second presence, he probed deeper and felt the small flame that meant he was almost one of them. 

He had the potential for immortality. 

For the immortal, things were finally brightening up. He had his chance for solitude and contemplation on the flight here and during his revelatory "chat" with the Vorlon. Now it was time for him to start making some changes. To make that difference he was supposed to make in this so-called war and fight the good fight one last time. 

Right now, it was time for some fun. 

"Connor MacLeod, of the clan MacLeod. And I guess we're here to save the universe, right?" he smiled right back at Sheridan's smiling face. 

"Come again, Mr MacLeod?" 

"Mr Sheridan . . ." he exclaimed in mock surprise, "I take it you don't already know?" 

And he remembered those words once more . . . "You only have one life. If you value it – go home." Connor regretted those harshly stern words, and with the Prize as his tool, reformed them to read: "If you value it – fight for it. Never let it go or you _will_ regret it. Believe me. I have." 

Brushing away the words of a forgotten soul, the Highlander awaited his reply. 

* * *

© 2000   
Please send comments to the author! 

12/18/2000 

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